• by Kelly Samardak , February 24, 2009

"Running In Stilettos" Party, Goldbar, New York
February 24, 2009

Maybe I just need to say no to fashion-type parties. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on me again. Last night I slapped on some fishnets and a warmish dress and braved the bitterly cold night where the wind stabbed me with Mother Nature's daggers, all in the name of Marie Claire and the Style Network --- who were throwing a party to welcome new quality programming, "Running In Stilettos," which I can only imagine is a show about too-big-for-their-britches fashion types as they learn how to place themselves on a higher ground than the rest of us swimning in the moderately attractive pool -- all with the help of arch-destroying, ankle-busting torture devices.

Here, let me tuck my bitter tongue in -- because, let's be honest, no one ever got anywhere good retaining bitterness -- unless of course you're a delicious greyhound (the drink, not the dog -- I haven't licked a greyhound recently). I took Lafayette the whole way, then jogged over to where it splits into Cleveland, took a left again on Broome and saw the gold chain that replaced the peon velvet rope. Nothing's too good for this crowd. The line was one person deep and five people wide, but you could still hear the gnashing and jostling for position. I'm sure the desperation to enter was a direct result of how cold it was outside. Even with the tiny line, groups of three and five still felt the need to line-jump. In fact, I was next in line when "Liz from the Style Network" declared herself over my right shoulder just as I was opening my mouth. Bygones, really.

I entered Goldbar and scoped out the scene. It was a mixed age crowd, there were a smattering of jeans, but slippery dresses and tops trumped that. Very low percentage of men. Oh wait, there was one man I remember. He swung through the crowd and told me that no photos were allowed. He escorted me to the front to talk to two women. One was quite positive and final that no photos were allowed inside the actual party; the other was possibly the woman who'd OK'd the transfer of invitation from the MediaPost editor who works from Detroit to me, the more appropriate recipient (based on location AND beat). She was incredibly friendly and her eyes were apologetic as she suggested that I stand at the front and take photos of people at the entrance. I told her that's not the style of this column. It was then suggested that I sneak in. And that's just not my style.

And that, my friends, was that.

Bringing March in like a lamb? Invite kelly@mediapost.com to your sheepish party!